


Duet

by CL2112



Category: Original Work
Genre: But I wanted to get some feedback, I don't have anything else written yet, M/M, Orchestra, Original work - Freeform, So I'm gonna post the first chapter now, Sorry probs gonna delete eventually, gay main characters, lazy violinist, snooty violinist, this is literal trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:59:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7755076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CL2112/pseuds/CL2112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, Alistair really wants to get into Elijah's pants. He wasn't prepared to end up liking the guy along the way.</p><p>This is an original work about two guys in a high school orchestra class. One is lazy, only taking the elective because his mother forces him to; the other is a dedicated musician who pours his heart and soul into the music. </p><p>EDIT: Lol this is probably never going to be updated. I tried a thing and honestly, I wasn't really feeling it. Might delete in a year or two, but I'll leave it up a while longer in case anyone just happens to enjoy this trash?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duet

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a thing. I'm not exactly used to writing fiction (as opposed to analytical essays), so I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing or if I'm doing it right. 
> 
> I have some ideas of where I might want to take this story, but they aren't really fleshed out yet. There is very likely going to be some smut (potentially slightly mild, potentially really hardcore, depends on what I end up being able to write), just as a heads up.
> 
> Also, I'm really sorry if you want fast updates. I am totally not going to be able to do that. I write slow. Really frickin' slow. Like snail-pace slow. Which is why I was going to wait until I had a couple chapters written before I posted any of them. But whoops, I got impatient.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for clicking on this fic; I hope you enjoy it!

**Alistair POV**  
It all started with a glance. I felt someone's eyes on me and I lifted my head, not particularly thinking about it. Just as an instinct, if anything. And that's when I saw him. He was shorter than me, but not by that much. A few inches. His hair was the same color as mine, a rich shade of chocolate, the ends curling to just barely cover his ears, and his eyes a bright green, contrasting against the warmth of his delightfully-tanned skin. He was holding a violin in his hands, and I noted how well-loved it appeared, how gently his hands held the instrument, as if it were something very precious, rather than just a hunk of shaped wood and string. My eyes trailed down his lean body, taking note of the way his thin, light green v-neck shirt clung to his frame and his black Abercrombie skinny jeans hugged his thighs and butt. When I reached his feet, I was slightly surprised to find a pair of scuffed up converse chucks. They looked as if they had once been white, but had descended into a light beige from wear, and they were nearly worn through in several places, the cracked soles glaringly obvious against the white linoleum of the Orchestra room floor. Everything else about him was clean and polished and reeked of money, so the scuffed up shoes seemed out of place.

Realizing how much I had been staring at him, my gaze shot back up to his face, only to meet his eyes. Time slowed down for that half a second as I felt captured within his penetrating gaze. He fascinated me, I realized, and I wanted to know more about him. But, more importantly, I wanted to fuck him. I wanted to know what he sounds like in bed, getting pounded into the mattress; I wanted to know what he would look like, how his face would flush a bright crimson, how he would writhe in pleasurable agony beneath me, how his toes would curl and his back would arch deliciously and how he'd fist his hands in the sheets, or perhaps in my hair, tugging and pulling with those nimble violinist fingers, silently begging me to never stop.

Then suddenly the spell was broken. I came back to reality only to be greeted by the boy's devilish smirk. God how I hated that smirk. I'd seen it so many times on so many different faces. It was an arrogant half-smile, one that radiated the message "I'm better than you." Why did the first person in years to interest me have to have that smirk bestowed upon his beautiful face?

 

* * *

 

 **Elijah POV**  
Who was he? Obviously some slacker, as he barely ever even lifted his chipped and battered violin to his shoulder to play, but _who_ was he? What's his story? Why the fuck is he even in the Chamber Orchestra if he has so little drive to be here? Does he even like music? These questions and more swirled around and around in my head the entire class period, driving me to insanity as I tried desperately not to turn around and glance at him.

_He's just a slacker. He's just a slacker. You don't need that type of influence in your life. You don't want that type of person in your life. Even though he is the prettiest boy you've ever seen...._

I give my head a sharp shake, once, twice, three times, to rid myself of those ridiculous thoughts. A guy couldn't be pretty, I reasoned. It doesn't matter that his dark brown hair looked so soft to the touch as it fell into his face and covered his ears, that his eyes looked like mesmerizing molten pots of melted chocolate, that despite his choice of attire (which left much to be desired) you could clearly see his lithe body, his torso covered by a dark grey Black Sabbath t-shirt that was surely two sizes too big for him (nearly falling off his right shoulder; how inappropriate for a public learning environment) and long legs encased in baggy navy blue sweatpants. The disastrous outfit was completed by a pair of black and silver Adidas tennis shoes, laced up with sky blue shoelaces.

I didn't even realize I had spaced out until our conductor, Mr. Bell, called my name.

"Elijah? We're starting at measure 45 in Bacchanale; make sure you're paying attention. You are first chair, after all..."

 

* * *

 

 **Alistair POV**  
Ah. So his name was Elijah. I snorted. It seemed to suit him and his snooty rich-kid aura.

I watched him as we packed up our instruments for the day. He had such an interesting way of moving, as if he were underwater, every motion smooth and fluid. There was complete confidence when he closed the lid of his violin case, hiding his instrument from view, and latched the snaps. Elijah stood gracefully then and hauled his case toward the white lockers that lined the back left corner of the Orchestra room. Without my permission, my eyes continued to follow him, focusing briefly on the curve of his ass when he passed by me.

It was laughable how unaware he was of my gaze.

The moment I realized that I had automatically memorized his locker number was the moment I knew I would have to find a way to get closer to him.

Now, there is a slight issue with this. We aren't even in the same freaking section. He a part of the pretentious first violins, while I reside within the often-overlooked second violin section. I'm not even first chair. If I had actually put effort into my chair audition, maybe I could have made it, but I didn't see the point at the time. Well now that I had my point I wanted to kick my past self. Because first chair first violin Elijah and first chair second violin currently some brunette sophomore that I never bothered to catch the name of often do duets together. Duets require practice. Practice implies time spent together. Alone.

Oh, fuck! I don't want him to spend time alone with some boring, mousy brunette who probably has no life. He needs to spend more time with me. _I_ need to spend more time with _him_. Instantly, I knew what I'd have to do; I just wasn't happy about it. You see, we have the opportunity to challenge higher chairs in our sections, but once we come within two weeks of a concert, Mr. Bell shuts down any attempts to move up. Our first concert is in a month and a half, leaving me with only 4 weeks to successfully challenge my way up from 4th chair to 1st. Well, I guess this means I'm going to have to actually put effort into my playing for once...

 

* * *

 

The door inched open a bit as my older sister stuck her head into my bedroom. I didn't even notice her at first; I was too busy trying to make sense of the music notes on the page in front of me. It was only when she coughed that I became aware of her presence.

"Oh, it's just you, Jess," I mumbled, embarrassed of the fact that I'd just jumped about three feet in the air because of _my sister_.

"Love you, too, dipshit," she retorted sarcastically as she flopped down on my bed. "So, what are you wasting your time on this fine evening? Trying to find an idiotic way to break your violin again? I thought we agreed after the last time that you'd avoid doing damage to expensive things."

I rolled my eyes as I turned away from the flimsy black foldable music stand currently occupying the center of my bedroom. I then none-too-gently placed my violin in its open case on the floor, proceeding to dry-wash my face as I fell back into the rolling desk chair that sits in front of my gaming set-up. My frustration was getting the better of me. Why was this so fucking _difficult_? I'd been attempting to practice this shitty piece for three damn weeks already. I'm almost out of time to challenge the mouse (my personal title for the sophomore whose name I still have yet to figure out). I was so busy wallowing in self-pity I nearly forgot about Jess.

"Your room really stinks, you know that?" She scrunched her nose up and made an over-exaggerated pantomime of dying from suffocation.

"Shut up, fuck face. It's not like your room is any better with all of the fucking shitty perfume you spray in there." Even so, I took a look around my room and noticed that the piles of (probably) dirty clothes on my floor seemed to be a bit bigger than usual, that my dark blue carpet seemed to have a couple more stains near my bedside where I keep knocking drinks off my cheap nightstand than it did before, my mini trash can was overflowing with more empty chip bags than was likely healthy, and my wooden dresser was nearly empty of clothes (which I suspect were all on the floor) and could definitely use a dusting. I grunted in aggravation and thunked my head down onto my computer desk. I allowed my eyes to lazily wander over the items housed there, including my desktop and all its bells and whistles, my two surround-sound speakers that could blast wickedly loud, a pencil cup full of half-sized pencils, all sporting chewed up erasers, and a small shelf full of pc games, the rest of which were shelved on organizers hidden under the desk itself. I let out another huff of annoyance.

Jess must've sensed that my attitude was a bit off tonight because when she spoke again, her voice had softened slightly. "Hey, dude. Is everything alright? You're being more of an ass than usual."

I let out a dry chuckle at that before hauling myself upright again. Turning to look at her, I began swiveling my chair back and forth - which I knew annoyed Jess beyond belief. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, surprised and slightly grateful that she didn't rise to the bait, before I finally opened my mouth to speak.

"There's this thing—"

"ALISTAIR! JESSICA! IT'S TIME FOR DINNER!"

I flinched at my mother's yell from downstairs, only a tiny bit startled by the unexpected bellow. Jess looked a bit disappointed that her attempt to play the wise older sister had been foiled by the unfortunate timing. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or upset myself that I had been interrupted; if I had started telling Jess what was bugging me, I undoubtedly would've told her everything in a rush of fucking word vomit or some shit like that. And I wasn't sure I wanted her to have that kind of dirt on me. Every sibling knows it's too dangerous to willingly give up that kind of blackmailing power.

Pasting my signature smirk on my face, I stand up and stretch before starting toward the door. Over my shoulder I call back to Jess, "I'm headin' down to dinner. I don't care what you do, but stay the fuck outta my room when I'm not there." 

It was only after I'd left the room that I let my mask fall and the stress settle itself on my face again...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it at least a little bit! Please drop a comment with any sort of tips you have for improving this in the future, either with writing or plot or whatever. I do want to follow through with this fic, but I want to be able to do it justice.


End file.
